By Design
by lucelafonde
Summary: Modern-day AU - Javert and Valjean have been living in the same apartment building forever, but they've never actually met, and when they finally do, stuff Javert hasn't signed up for happens.
1. The Other Tenant

Javert had been living in the same apartment building for several years without ever meeting any of the other tenants. He had moved closer to his station when he got promoted to Inspector and hadn't bothered to introduce himself to anyone when he did. His presence usually made people uneasy, and he had observed at his last flat that nobody actually liked having a police officer around, even when their consciences should be clean.

Consequently, he had made the choice that suited him and everyone else best: he moved through the hallways like a ghost, leaving when the city was still asleep and coming home when everyone else was already in bed.

This wasn't by any means a sacrifice; Javert had little in terms of distractions, he disliked reading as much as watching TV or meeting with the few people he knew. His job was his life, and he felt like every second spent away from work was a wasted one.

Thus was his life. He went home to sleep and to shower, he never ate anything he had prepared himself, and the TV set that had already been installed when he moved in was only ever used to provide him with a quick overview of the news when he prepared the coffee in the morning.

Javert never went home early except on one occasion: office parties.

It was on a day such as this that the police man walked up the stairs to his humble lodgings and found himself facing a stranger fumbling for something in his pockets in front of the door opposite his own. When Javert approached, the man let out a small curse as the briefcase and papers he had been balancing in one hand fell to the floor with a thump. Sighing, he bent down to retrieve his scattered belongings and only looked up when Javert was holding a stack of papers he had put together again under his nose.

"Oh," the man said dumbly and grasped for the bundle. "Thank you." He picked up the briefcase with as much dignity as he could muster and opened the door to his apartment with the key he had finally acquired. Half-way inside he turned again and considered Javert with a mild frown between his eyes.

"I've never seen you here," he noticed with conviction. "Did you move in recently?"

"Actually I've been living here for several years now," Javert said uncomfortably, unhappy that his routine had been disturbed by the presence of this man.

"Really?" The stranger seemed mildly surprised, but not excessively so. "Imagine that. Do you live on this floor?"

"It appears that we are neighbours," Javert nodded and pointed towards his apartment door.

"Impossible!" the man exclaimed with wide eyes and allowed himself to chuckle at the other's scowl. "I suppose I shouldn't be so surprised. I always wondered who was living there—- if this flat was taken at all! I guess after a while I simply assumed nobody wanted it."

"As you now know it has been occupied," Javert said simply and turned towards his door with a slight nod intended to end the conversation.

"Hmph," the man grunted and watched the Inspector disappear into his apartment.

On the other side of the door Javert was leaning against the wood with a frown, throwing his keys into a bowl beside him.

He had seen that man before—- of that he was certain.

But where?

Javert had an excellent memory for faces, but whatever capacities he had in that area he paid for with a complete incapability of remembering names. In his profession he had to deal with dozens of new people every day, so not being able to recall where he had met one man didn't exactly come as a surprise to Javert, but it bothered him still.

He followed his daily routine mechanically and forced himself to read an old French book about a couple of children trying their hand at an ill-conducted revolution before going to bed, his neighbour constantly at the back of his mind.

As much as not remembering where he had seen the other tenant annoyed him, Javert hadn't actually expected to see any more of the man after their initial introduction. Meeting the guy had been an accident to begin with, so expecting to keep their acquaintance brief seemed reasonable; Javert was moderately surprised when he heard a knock that sounded like it was coming from his door.

The police man never had any visitors, for the simple reason that he had never had any friends who might visit him. Consequently, Javert stared at the door in wonder as much as annoyance when he noticed the offending noise and only got up from his seat when it became clear that yes, it was indeed his door that was being knocked at and no, whoever was doing the knocking wasn't going to go away.

His surprise could not have been greater when he stared into the hallway only to find a little girl staring back.

"Who are you?" Javert asked impatiently, quickly cataloguing the child's appearance. She must have been about nine years old, if perhaps a bit small for her age. Her hair was of a dirty blond, or a light brown, and she stared at him out of wide blue eyes which seemed even bigger in a face as gaunt as hers. She was nicely dressed, which stood in stark contrast to her bodily appearance; looking at her Javert would have said she was the child of a beggar, but she was wearing the clothes of a princess.

"Are you the man who lives here?" the girl asked rather than answering, and she peered curiously past Javert into his living room.

"What?" the Inspector frowned at his unwelcome guest and closed the door as far as he could while standing in the way.

"Papa told me there was someone living here now," she explained and finally met his stern gaze. "I didn't believe him, but it looks like he's right."

"Well, if you know that now there really is no point in you still being here, is there?" Javert pointed out and silently willed her to move away.

"Are you a police man?" the girl asked, either oblivious to his annoyance or unmoved by it.

"What makes you think that?" Javert said, wondering whether his posture gave him away.

"You're wearing a gun," the child pointed out and nodded towards his belt. "So you're either a police man or a criminal, and you don't look like a criminal." She paused uncertainly, carefully swaying her head as she was considering something. "Much."

"And what would you know about criminals?" Javert asked, but his indignation lacked any real bite. The kid had found the exact right thing to say to him in under three minutes; at the moment she could have asked him to come in, and he would likely have allowed it.

"Not much," the girl admitted guiltily. "Papa never lets me watch those things."

"'Those things'?"

"Y'know," she gestured around helplessly, "cop stuff. Hunting criminals. He says it's not good for a child to see such things. He wants me to watch princess movies instead."

"And you don't like those?" Javert said as much as asked, incapable of preventing a little smile from forming on his lips.

"Oh, I do," she nodded eagerly. "I'd just like to have the CHOICE, y'know."

"I see," the Inspector said gravely and squinted at her as he remembered something. "Where does your papa think you are anyway?"

Just as the girl was about to answer they heard a series of frantic shuffling noises followed by curses from the opposite apartment, and seconds later a hurried-looking man stumbled through the previously closed door, almost hitting the child on his way out.

"Cosette!" he exclaimed in a shrill voice as he laid eyes on the girl and swiftly knelt down beside her, grabbing her in all the places he could reach, rearranging her hair with trembling fingers.

The girl endured this with as much patience and dignity as she possibly could and exchanged a look that was as guilty as exasperated with Javert, who had been watching the scene with growing amusement.

"What are you doing?" the man asked once he had finally reassured himself of the child's well-being. "You can't just run off like that! What if something happened?"

"I'm fine, papa," Cosette sighed and definitely rolled her eyes at him now. "You worry too much. I was just talking to our neighbour."

At this the man finally looked up and met Javert's eyes with a surprised frown. "I didn't see you there," he voiced what they were both thinking after a second.

"No matter," the police man shrugged off and wished he could simply turn around and close the door behind him.

"I hope my daughter hasn't been bothering you," the man continued and finally straightened from his position on the ground so he was now on a level with Javert. "She must have been curious when I told her the apartment wasn't empty; I should have realised she would try to find out more. My apologies."

"Keep them," Javert said with a shake of his head and chanced a quick look at the girl. "She was no bother."

At that Cosette smiled, and the police man allowed himself to wink conspiratorially at her when her father wasn't looking.

"I'm glad to hear that, at least," the man sighed and fixed his daughter with stern eyes. "I almost had a heart attack. If you were trying to send me to an early grave, you'll be glad to hear you almost succeeded."

"I'm sorry, papa," the girl mumbled and looked the part.

"Don't think the matter's closed with that, young lady," her father said and pointed at their apartment-door. "And now off you go."

Cosette looked like she was meaning to argue, but whatever she saw in the man's eyes stopped her from making a scene, and she dutifully stomped off into the flat.

Javert followed her retreat with watchful eyes and allowed himself to have them linger on the closed door for a moment before they snapped back to the other man again.

"I must apologise," Cosette's father sighed and tiredly scratched his head. "I don't know what's got into her. She's not usually like that."

"It is no matter," Javert assured him and was surprised to find he meant it. "You should prevent her from letting it become a habit, however. Not every man is like me."

At that the other looked at him sharply and seemed to take in his appearance for the first time since they had met.

"And what are you 'like'?" he asked carefully and let his eyes get stuck on the gun which was clearly visible due to the fact that Javert wasn't wearing a jacket.

"No need to get nervous," he chuckled and laid down the offending weapon on the table next to the door. "We haven't been properly introduced: I'm Inspector Javert."

"Ah," the man said and paled slightly. The officer had expected such a reaction; curiously, most people seemed to feel less secure in the presence of an official than without. "Well. Good. I'm Madeleine. Jean, if you want. You've already met my daughter, Cosette."

"Nice to meet you. And now that we got that out of the way you may continue to ignore my existence," Javert said and slowly rolled up his shirtsleeves to give his hands something to do.

"Why would I do that?" Madeleine frowned, his initial apprehension suddenly forgotten.

"I'm not naive," Javert sighed and met the other's eyes again. "I realise officers of the police aren't exactly the most popular dinner guests. There's no need to pretend otherwise; I quite understand. Don't feel the need to interact with me now that you know about my existence. Nothing has changed. We shall both be quite happy continuing as we were."

"If I had known the apartment was taken I would have introduced myself," Madeleine said with some indignation. "You chose to keep away from us, not the other way around."

"Let's not argue," the Inspector said and took a step back into his apartment. "You have your life, I have mine, and there really is no reason why they should intertwine more than strictly necessary."

Madeleine looked like he would very much like to argue, but Javert was tired and more than a little annoyed that his routine had been changed in such a drastic manner, so he simply turned around and closed the door without waiting for the explosion.


	2. Any Other Day

Javert had spent years in that apartment building without meeting a soul; now that he had stumbled over the Madeleines he seemed to be unable to get rid of them again. Whenever he so much as opened the door one of them happened to be leaving or returning to their flat. The father went to work when Javert tried to make an early start, and once the police man realised that their routines somehow seemed to overlap he made an effort to leave a little later—- only to promptly collide with Cosette in the hallway. Javert caught either one or both of them whenever he dared make a move outside, and while he attempted to avoid such meetings at first he soon realised that it was no use; the harder he fought against it, the more often he appeared to find himself cornered by one of the other tenants.

Since Javert and the Madeleines had the only two apartments on the floor he never ran into anyone else, but that was only a small consolation. After about two months of chance meetings the police man knew that Jean was the sole owner of a small business that seemed to be going really well and that Cosette was attending a private school which required her to learn a handful of foreign languages, Latin and German making it to the top of her hate-list.

Javert did not know when exactly he suddenly started exchanging stories with the members of that family, but it seemed odd to him that he should know all those trivial things without having had a conversation with them. He concluded that they must have talked at some point, at one or several of their little run-ins, and wondered what they might know about him.

He still hadn't figured out why Madeleine's face seemed so familiar, but that was a small issue. It was probably nothing; perhaps a speeding ticket in his early days, possibly even less than that. Javert had other things to worry about, and he only allowed himself to spend a very small amount of time thinking about the other tenants; his life had been disturbed enough by their presence as it was, he didn't need to add to that voluntarily.

It started as a day like any other. Javert went to work abominably early as usual, met Madeleine on his way out, exchanged a few pleasantries, and was on his way. He and his team had spent the last few months trying to nail down a drug-trafficking ring and finally succeeded in pinning down their headquarters and enough evidence to get the whole group. It all went according to plan until they stormed the warehouse and one of the apparently hired thugs panicked, shooting at people at random, missing the guy he was aiming at and hitting Javert's shoulder instead.

The ride to the hospital went by in a haze.

Javert noticed and remembered nothing, his mind already numb with pain-killers. When he came to he was lying in a hospital bed, and his arm was tightly wrapped around his chest. The nurse who appeared by his bedside as if summoned there by magic told him that it had been a clean shot, a small gun, and some distance, missing everything of importance, making it more of an inconvenience than a serious threat. Javert was kept in the ICU overnight and made to stay for another two days, but was finally released when he swore he wouldn't try to go back to work and not move a single muscle once he got home. He was sent off with a bottle of painkillers, a tight bandage and a "if it re-opens, come back."

Javert had no intention of wasting any more time in the hospital; he was already days behind on his work, and while he had promised not to physically go back to the station he never said he wouldn't keep up-to-date from home.

He dragged himself up the stairs, the old building he was living in not being equipped with an elevator, and was unsurprised to find Madeleine exiting his apartment when he had almost made it to his door. Javert groaned inaudibly at his terrible timing and prepared himself for the inevitable explosion.

"Javert!" Madeleine exclaimed surprised when he noticed him in the hallway. "I haven't seen you in days! Are you— dear god! What happened?!" He had paled visibly, staring in open shock at the brace around the other's shoulder.

"Ah," Javert said and tried to find an elegant way of avoiding this conversation. "It is nothing. My shoulder made the acquaintance of a bullet; it didn't last long, but I don't think they got on very well."

"You are joking."

"I am most certainly not."

"No, I mean," Madeleine shook his head and his voice was trembling with barely suppressed anger, "you are joking about this. You could have died! Your shoulder, man! It's bleeding!"

Javert looked down on himself with mild interest at that, observing a wet patch of crimson spreading on his white shirt, wondering whether this constituted a case of re-opening that required him to return to the hospital.

"'Tis but a flesh wound," he said at length and decided that while not pretty, the amount of blood he was losing was far from alarming.

"I don't believe this," Madeleine groaned and turned the key in its lock again, opening his door. "Get in here before you die in the hallway."

"It really is nothing," Javert assured him and refused to move. "This is hardly the first injury I have sustained. I'll live."

"Perhaps," the other said, clearly unconvinced, "but I would still like to take a look; just in case."

"Yes, sir," the Inspector sighed and allowed himself to be manoeuvred into the apartment.

It was slightly bigger than his own, but about as scarcely furnished. They entered directly into the living room, where a big comfy-looking sofa was standing in front of a high-tech TV set that seemed about as out of place in the humble housing as an indoor fountain might have, and the kitchen integrated neatly into an alcove at the far wall. A narrow corridor led to an additional three rooms Javert couldn't see from his place at the door, but he was certain they contained the sleeping areas of the inhabitants and the bathroom.

Madeleine ushered him in with the swiftness of a man who meant to get down to business and gently — but assertively — pushed him into the many cushions of the sofa. Once he was satisfied with Javert's position he hurried away in the direction of the corridor and returned almost immediately to the Inspector's side, first aid kit in hand.

"Drop the shirt," he said without looking up and fiddled with one of the packages.

"Excuse me?" Javert frowned, certain he had misheard.

"Undress."

"I told you, I'm fine," the Inspector said, agitated now. He didn't have time for this; it wasn't his responsibility to make a guy he occasionally met in the hallway feel reassured.

"No matter," Madeleine shrugged and finally looked up from his fight with the bandage with an expression that brooked no argument. "I'll check anyway."

"Are you always this annoying?" Javert sighed, recognising defeat when he saw it, and slowly started to unbutton his shirt with his good hand.

"When the situation requires it," the man smiled devilishly and patted the other's fingers away, "let me. You probably shouldn't move anyway."

Having already made a concession Javert didn't even attempt to argue and simply let his hand fall to his side, watching the other intently as he unbuttoned his shirt with superfluous care.

"No need to be so gentle," Javert murmured and kept his eyes fixed on the dexterous fingers on his chest. "It's already ruined, and I have dozens just like it."

"I do not wish to cause you unnecessary pain," Madeleine shrugged and made slow process. "You may be completely unaffected by the fact that you have a hole in your shoulder, but I can assure you I am not as indifferent."

The Inspector considered this for a moment, unconsciously licking his lips in thought.

"I didn't know you cared," he said at length, daring to chance a look at the other. Jean looked up with a frown, and their eyes met uncertainly over Madeleine's attempts at undoing the shirt.

"Don't be ridiculous," he mumbled finally with a slight shake of his head and opened the last button, "we're friends; of course I care."

Javert wanted to say that he hadn't realised they were quite that close, but something in the other's bearing told him that it would be a mistake. Instead, he allowed Madeleine to wriggle his wounded arm out of the sleeve, leaving the rest of the shirt hanging from his torso. When the man carefully pulled away the soaked-through cotton taped to Javert's chest he grimaced slightly and asked without looking:

"So? What's the verdict? Will I live?"

Madeleine pondered on that for a moment before he pulled out a disinfectant and said measuredly: "It looks all right— for a bullet wound."

"Ah, that's fine then," Javert sighed and closed his eyes, leaning back on the couch with tired contentment. As long as he didn't have to return to the hospital he was happy; if that meant enduring Madeleine's mothering, so be it.

"No offence," he heard a few moments later, as if from far away, and forced himself to squint at the man re-newing his bandages, "but your chest looks like it has been used for target practice."

"That's because it has," Javert yawned and closed his eyes again. The pain-killers he had received in the hospital were still coursing through his veins, and his brain felt like it was made of cotton candy. In this moment he wanted nothing more than sleep, but a tiny voice in his mind told him that he still had to wait before he could return to his bed, which suddenly seemed to have developed the ability to call out like a siren.

"Specify," Madeleine scowled, all politeness forgotten in the blink of an eye. Javert thought that the man didn't handle violence too well and tried to store this in his lightly bouncing brain for the future.

"I don't come from the best background," the Inspector said dismissively and intended to leave it at that, but even though he wasn't looking he could still feel the other's eyes burning holes into his bare chest, so he sighed and added, "some of those scars are from the man who calls himself my father, others from the kids at the academy who didn't like to share their soil with a gypsy boy, and a couple of them I got out in the field."

Madeleine was strangely silent for a long time, far longer than Javert had ever witnessed before. He slowly opened his eyes, slightly worried he might have said something wrong, but the other's expression gave away nothing, so he said:

"I told you this wasn't my first injury. It's quite all right. I hardly feel it."

"Just because you're used to something doesn't make it okay," Madeleine said quietly after a little eternity had passed and didn't meet his eyes.

"But it makes it bearable," Javert pointed out and inspected the new bandage on his shoulder. It wasn't a work of art, but it definitely served its purpose and looked infinitely better than he would have managed on his own. "Thank you."

"You're quite welcome."

Madeleine stood from where he had been sitting on the sofa beside him and returned to the bathroom. Javert was just about to get up and leave without saying anything further when he heard light footsteps approaching from the corridor and turned around just in time to catch Cosette coming into the living room. He observed her stop short at the sight of him and couldn't prevent a little smile from forming on his lips when she looked around in confusion, doubtlessly trying to spot her father to make some sense out of the situation. When she couldn't find him she carefully approached the sofa and stared at the Inspector out of wide eyes.

"I didn't know you were here," Cosette said needlessly and finally spotted the blood on the shirt Javert was just wriggling into again. She gaped openly at the stain and looked between the offending crimson and the Inspector in quick succession until she could force out a shrieked: "What happened?!"

"You know how your papa never lets you watch any cop stuff?" Javert asked and grimaced for show when she nodded in horror. "This is why."

"But… but…" She was quite speechless; the Inspector had never seen that happen before. In other circumstances he might have been glad, but despite his brain still being more than out of order he knew that this was a child, and seeing a bullet wound was undoubtedly a traumatising experience that required especial care when dealing with.

"No need to turn into a fish," Javert sighed and gently closed the girl's mouth with a steady hand. He patted the empty spot beside him in invitation and waited until Cosette had sat down before he continued. "Being a police man is a noble thing, a good thing, but occasionally bad things happen to good people. One of the bad guys had a weapon and he used it unwisely; don't worry, we got him. You know why?"

Cosette shook her head slowly, afraid to speak.

"Because good always wins in the end," Javert said simply and patted her hair with partly drug-induced affection. "I might have got shot, but I'll live; it's nothing. The man who shot me, however, is now facing an extended prison sentence because he hit an officer of the police. Do you know what we call that?"

Again, she shook her head.

"Justice. I got shot and he got prison. Believe me, I much prefer my position."

Cosette considered him for a moment, looking between him and the blood.

"Does this happen a lot?" she asked quietly, and Javert could have sworn her eyes were wet.

"Sometimes."

"Then why do you do this?" she cried and jumped out of her seat. She was staring at the Inspector out of blazing eyes now, and it was terrible; there is nothing quite as frightening as the righteous anger of a child, and Javert now had opportunity to realise this.

"Because," he said bravely and leaned forward — ignoring the strain this put on his shoulder — to look deep into the burning eyes, "if I do my job well, it's not you who's gonna get shot." Sighing, he took Cosette's hand and forced her back into her seat, allowing her head to rest lightly against his wounded shoulder. "Someone has to uphold the law and make sure bad people get punished; if we didn't, little girls like you couldn't sleep soundly in their beds at night. I have to do what I do so you can be safe. Sometimes that means biting the literal bullet; that's fine. It's okay because I know the guy who shot me is behind bars and won't hurt you instead. It's a small price to pay, really."

He tried to throw her an encouraging smile, but his brain was mush, and he thought it might have turned out a bit more terrifying than intended. Nevertheless, Cosette didn't stray from her place at his side and contemplated his words for several moments before she nodded gravely and said:

"I will become a police woman too, then."

"Definitely not," a voice from behind them interjected before Javert could argue, and Madeleine moved from the corridor to the front of their sofa.

"But—" Cosette started, already pouting to strengthen her case, but her father would have none of it.

"No," he said and vehemently shook his head. "Cosette— Javert is a singular man, unarguably created for the sole purpose of bringing evil-doers to justice, but you, young lady, are not. I will not watch you trade places with him on this couch; one of you in this position is quite enough."

The girl looked at him out of angry eyes, but said nothing. Javert doubted that this would be the end of it if left like that so he said softly:

"Cosette— your papa is quite right. It's a dangerous world out there, and besides: if you follow in my footsteps, then what am I fighting for, huh? If a sweet girl like you goes out to get herself shot, who am I protecting? Come now. You can't destroy my purpose like that; it would ruin the whole system."

Madeleine awarded him with a look that was a mix between prayer and worship, and Javert nodded slightly in acknowledgement, unseen by Cosette's pensive eyes.

"That's true," she conceded slowly. "I suppose you're right. And besides, as long as you're getting all the bad guys, I won't have to anyway."

"That's right," the Inspector smiled and thought the drugs were messing with his brain more than expected.

"I'm glad we cleared that up," Madeleine sighed with the relief only known to a father who was about to lose his little girl. "Didn't you want to be a wedding planner only yesterday?"

"Ugh, papa, that was soooo long ago," Cosette said with the patience quite unique to children educating their parents. "I want to be a designer!"

"Oh?" Jean laughed, happy that she had moved on so quickly. "Perhaps you could do both? Design wedding dresses for the events you planned?"

The girl considered this for a second before her face lit up and she nodded eagerly.

"YES! I will do that! And the cake! I shall become a baker!" She turned around with incontrollable excitement and faced Javert. "I will become the Wedding Queen!"

The Inspector didn't hear her; he was fast asleep.


	3. Morals and other Dilemmas

Javert squinted in the badly lit room, groaning unhappily as the pain in his shoulder caught up with him when he tried to move. He ceased any attempts at getting into an upright position and opened his eyes fully just in time to catch Madeleine close a book from a chair a few feet away from him. Javert belatedly realised that he was no longer on the sofa in the living room but in a bed that definitely wasn't his, and he wondered drowsily how he had ended up in this position.

"You're awake," Madeleine noticed as he carefully approached the bed.

"Obviously," Javert grunted and hissed as he made the mistake of trying to turn into the other's direction, straining his aching shoulder.

"Wait," the man said and fiddled with something he took from the nightstand. A second later he held out a pill followed by a glass of water and said: "Here. I took them from your pocket when I moved you."

Javert frowned slightly, hearing the words, but not quite managing to put them together in the intended way, and simply allowed Madeleine to put the pill into his mouth and hold the glass for him as he tried to swallow the water. Once he had managed to force down the painkiller with the other's steady hand on his back to keep him upright he sighed and leaned back against the pillows.

"Is this your bedroom?" Javert asked with mild curiosity, still trying to put the pieces together in his liquefying mind. "Did you carry me? How? What happened?" Annoyed at his own incoherence, the Inspector groaned and closed his eyes for a moment, hoping it would be easier to use his brain once he opened them again.

"You passed out on the sofa," Madeleine said patiently and felt the other's forehead for a fever. "I thought you might die there, so I called the hospital. They told me it was probably just the painkillers, but that you should be kept under observation in case you lose more blood." He nodded slightly, pleased at Javert's temperature and went into the adjoining bathroom to refill the glass.

"I carried you here because I figured it would be more comfortable for you to lie in an actual bed rather than a sofa and better for your shoulder," he continued with a raised voice from the bathroom. "I'm sorry I couldn't ask you for permission, but I'm sure you can see how that wasn't really an option." He returned with the filled cup and set it down on the nightstand with a satisfied grunt, observing Javert intently as he did.

"I'm not gonna spontaneously combust, you know," the Inspector mumbled sleepily and fought to keep his eyes open.

"Well, if you do I'll be here to see it," Madeleine shrugged and pulled the seat he had been sitting in earlier closer to the bed. "At least I'll get something out of it then."

"You might even make some money with that story," Javert yawned, content enough with his position for the moment, so he allowed himself to close his eyes and snuggle into the warm blanket he was tightly wrapped in to prevent himself from accidentally hurting his shoulder. When he was just about to drift off again, he remembered something that had seemed odd to him before.

"How did you manage to carry me?" the Inspector asked, squinting at the man sitting at his bedside now. "I'm no little girl; I'm actually quite heavy, I think. How did you do it?"

Madeleine considered him for a moment, observing with some amusement how Javert fought against his sleepiness to get answers. Taking pity on the wounded man he leaned back with a crooked smile and said: "I'm stronger than I look, Inspector."

"Hmph," Javert grunted and turned away as far as he could without unnecessarily hurting his shoulder. "In any case, I suppose I should thank you."

"Don't," Madeleine said and pulled out his book again, opening it slowly. "I did it mainly because I didn't know how to tell Cosette you died in our living room."

"Fair enough," the Inspector yawned and rubbed his face against the soft pillows underneath his head with something that sounded suspiciously like a purr. "I'm sure she won't ask any questions about why I died in your bedroom."

"Oh, just go to sleep, will you?" Madeleine sighed and resolutely stared at the pages in front of him, clearly having no intention of paying further attention to the wounded man in his bed.

"Yessir," Javert mumbled and drifted off, convincing himself drowsily that he wasn't giving in to that annoyingly smug man by his side, but rather followed his own desires in finally allowing his tired brain to rest.

When Javert awoke next he found Madeleine fast asleep in the chair beside him, book carelessly dropped to the floor. The corner of his lip turned slightly upwards at the sight, and a moment later he was slowly extracting himself from the bed, careful not to wake the man at his side. Once he had made it he bent down to retrieve the book, weary of his burning shoulder. Replacing it with the bottle of painkillers on the nightstand he sidled towards the door before he stopped with a pensive expression on his tired face.

Madeleine had obviously removed his blood-stained shirt before putting him to bed, doing god-knows-what with it. It was nowhere to be found, but Javert also had some reservations about leaving the room in his current state of undress. Cosette was likely still lingering about the apartment, and — considering her father's reaction to his scars — Javert thought it was reasonable to assume the girl would be even more badly affected than him.

He stood in the doorway for a moment, uncertain. Should he take the chance and risk traumatising the kid further? Madeleine wouldn't thank him; Javert knew little about being a parent, but he thought he would have unpleasant feelings towards someone who put the mental health of his child in jeopardy.

A no to that then. But what else could he do?

His gaze wandered towards the closet, and with a sigh he decided that he had no other option; he would reimburse Madeleine for the shirt later. Choosing a dark blue tone which almost faded into black in the hopes of perhaps covering up any bloodstains yet to come he quickly but carefully wriggled into the sleeves and sneaked out of the bedroom.

Once in the living room he looked around indecisively.

Should he just leave?

He had just stolen the man's shirt; the least he could do was stay long enough to apologise.

After checking the clock beside the TV set Javert decided that 7pm was a good time to make tea and moved into the kitchen. He sifted aimlessly through the cupboards for a bit before he heard a tiny voice behind him ask: "What are you looking for?"

Suppressing a minor heart-attack the Inspector turned around and met Cosette's curious eyes with steady ones of his own.

"Tea, actually," he said and gestured towards the general area of the kitchen. "But I seem to be unable to find any."

"That's because it's over here," the girl said and went to another set of cupboards, pulling out a box filled with bags. "What flavour?"

Javert considered her for a moment before he said simply, "Surprise me" and put on the kettle. Cosette nodded eagerly and pulled out three cups, putting a tea bag in each of them. The Inspector filled them up with hot water, and shortly after they found themselves lounging on the sofa, cups in hand, flipping through the channels.

"Is this papa's shirt?" the girl asked at length, voice carefully neutral. "You weren't wearing it before."

Javert considered her for a moment before he shrugged and said: "I'm afraid so. Is that a problem?"

"No," she said quickly, shaking her head with such vehemence the Inspector could feel his own neck hurt at the sight. "No, it's fine."

"Good," Javert said and focused on the screen again. "Oh, perfect timing," Javert said when he recognised the scene in front of them, putting the remote away.

"What?" Cosette asked curiously. "What is it?"

"Don't tell your father," the Inspector said, voice conspiratorially low, "but this is the one crime show you have to have seen. It's basic education, really. Not knowing it would be an obscenity."

"But what is it?" the girl asked, completely enthralled. There is nothing quite as captivating as that which is forbidden, and engaging in something her father would likely not approve of made her heart beat fast with anticipation.

Javert smiled at the easy enthusiasm of the child as he leaned close to her ear and whispered: "Sherlock Holmes."

"I've heard of him!" Cosette said proudly and squinted at the screen, "But I've never seen this."

"It is a modern adaptation," Javert waved off and allowed himself to snuggle deeper into the cushions, blowing on his steaming cup of tea. "It is quite good, actually. I never watch anything else."

"Well, I like it then," Cosette announced and leaned back too, carefully resting against the other's hurt shoulder.

"You haven't seen five minutes!" Javert laughed, but didn't argue.

"No matter," the girl shrugged and took a sip of her tea. "I like it."

"You know what?" the Inspector said and mimicked her action. "I believe you do."

The tea was as sweet and light as the girl, and Javert found even though he wasn't used to such things — drinking his coffee usually black and without sugar — he quite liked it. During the commercial breaks he explained the previous episodes and the plot of the show to Cosette, who swallowed his words with the hunger of a curious child, and he thought he could perhaps get used to this.

Javert had always thought having kids would be hard, his own parents obviously being completely incapable of dealing with the responsibility, so he found the ease with which he interacted with Cosette somewhat surprising. It certainly helped that the child was bright and kind-hearted, but his own reaction to her youth came as quite the shock to the Inspector. Having had only bad experiences in the past where families were concerned Javert had always striven towards not having one of his own; he was now beginning to think this might have been a mistake.

Madeleine groggily walked in on them twenty minutes later, barely suppressed surprise written all over his face.

"What are you watching?" he asked carefully as he approached them with a suspicious squint.

"It's not really a cop-show—-" Cosette immediately blurted out and caught herself mid-sentence, staring at her father with wide eyes. Javert groaned at her readiness to give up information and thought she would make a terrible spy— which was perhaps for the better.

"I thought I told you not to watch those," Madeleine frowned, but he looked annoyed more than angry. He probably thought having seen a real bullet-wound only hours before cancelled out fictional crimes on TV when it came to traumas for the day.

"It's my fault," Javert admitted and tried to turn towards the other man, grimacing at the sharp sting in his shoulder as he did. Alarmed, Madeleine was by his side in an instant, unbuttoning his shirt before the Inspector had even fully realised the pain.

"What are you doing?" he asked calmly, staring at the hands working their way down his chest with mild curiosity.

"I'm checking if you're bleeding to death," the man said impatiently and scowled at the offending stain of crimson spreading on the bandage, "What does it look like?"

"I'm not sure I wanna say," Javert said absent-mindedly, also observing the wet patch forming on the white now, "in front of the kid."

"That's all right," Cosette waved off quickly, resolutely not looking at either of them, eyes fixed on the screen in front of her with unshakable concentration. "Pretend I'm not even here."

"What—?" her father frowned, looking quickly between her and the other man's bare chest. "Oh." He turned as crimson as the stain on Javert's bandage and fiddled with his shirt-sleeves. "Oh. That's not— I— This needs to be changed," he forced out eventually and hurried towards the bathroom.

Javert observed his retreat with obvious confusion, sharing a quick look with the girl that told him she didn't know more than him, and decided to simply await the man's return in hopes of receiving an explanation.

Madeleine came back carrying the first aid kit, resolutely not looking at either person on the sofa, and, once he had knelt down in front of the police man, removed the bandage with perhaps a bit more force than necessary.

Javert said nothing, but he thought the man looked agitated, and he realised with a start that Cosette was still sitting on the sofa with him. Even though she seemed to be completely enthralled by the TV show there was a chance she might look over and catch a glimpse of the ghastly hole in his shoulder; he couldn't have that.

"Hey, kid," Javert said and nudged her gently, prepared to cover up the wound in case she would turn towards him, but he needn't have worried. She merely 'hmm?'ed and kept staring at the screen as if her life depended on it.

"I have the DVDs over at my flat," the Inspector continued, silently glad she displayed such a massive disinterest in his plight. "If you want, you can go and fetch them."

"Really?" Cosette cried, aborting a movement towards him at the very last second.

"Sure," he shrugged, causing Madeleine to curse quietly under his breath as he tried to clean the wound. With a mumbled apology to the man Javert fiddled about his pockets, trying to locate his key. When he found it he placed it into the girl's hands with a "Here. Go over and find them, will you? I'm sure your papa would love to see the show too, and like this you get to see the whole thing from the beginning."

Cosette nodded eagerly and jumped out of her seat, hurrying towards the door without turning back. When she was already half-way out she halted uncertainly between hallway and living room and said: "Where am I supposed to look?"

"Damned if I know," Javert admitted and tried to remember where he had put them, but his shoulder was aching, and he had taken another pill after he had made it out of the bedroom, making his brain feel unusually light once more. "Try around the TV set."

When the girl was gone he turned towards her father and said more to himself than to the other man: "That's where one would put them, isn't it?"

"How many of those pills have you taken?" Madeleine frowned, finally daring to meet Javert's eyes once again, concern for his wellbeing outweighing any discomfort he might have been experiencing.

"I don't think I could remember if I tried," the Inspector shrugged and leaned against the back of the sofa with a groan. "This isn't how I imagined my Friday night to go."

"We share that, at least," the other man nodded and poured disinfectant over Javert's wound, causing the Inspector to flinch slightly at the sudden sting.

"Really?" he asked, allowing his unfocused eyes to close for a moment. "I thought you were quite enjoying yourself, actually."

"Whatever gave you that impression?" the man frowned, grabbing for a new bandage.

"You," Javert said simply, squinting at the man at his feet. "The great Madeleine; always time for another good deed, always a ready heart for people in need." He halted for a moment, eyes cast at the ceiling. "It wasn't supposed to rhyme. These pills are messing with my head; I shan't take them anymore."

"Oh, you will," the other man said, and it was a promise Javert wasn't brave enough to argue with. "And I'm not a saint."

"Oh, but you are!" the Inspector cried, exasperated at the age-old discussion they had been having since day one. "Please. Not again. Must I remind you that ever since you learnt of my remote lifestyle you have done your very best to integrate into my life— because you thought I should have friends."

"We are neighbours," Madeleine pointed out, but didn't object. "It was the right thing to do."

"That blasted right thing of yours…" the Inspector muttered, tiredly rubbing his eyes with his good hand. "As it is the right thing to employ all those criminals in your factory?"

"FORMER criminals," the man said calmly, taping the bandage to his patient's chest.

"They are robbing you blind, I tell you," Javert groaned, staring at the ceiling once again. "I know these men; actually these very men you employ, not just those like them. They are not sincere, they are not hard-working. They don't care about becoming honest citizens; they're taking advantage of you, and you allow it."

"Let's agree to disagree then," Madeleine smiled, helping the other adjust the shirt again.

"How can you be so blindingly naive and trusting?" Javert cried, in agony at the sheer absurdity of the other's mindset.

"Let's just say I believe in the good in everyone," the man shrugged, re-buttoning the Inspector's shirt with dexterous fingers.

"What if it's not IN everyone?" Javert asked quietly, tired of fighting and the night in general.

"I have yet to meet anyone without it," Madeleine said simply and closed the first aid kit, setting it aside as he dropped on the sofa next to the police man. "Take you, for example," he continued at Javert's unconvinced expression. "You just allowed a child into your flat because you didn't want her to be permanently damaged at the sight of a bullet-wound; I call that good— kind even."

"There's no need to insult me," Javert grimaced and turned towards the screen, "we already agreed to disagree."

"Why do you think being kind is a bad thing?" Madeleine asked curiously, leaning towards the other man to see his face in the light of the TV.

"I don't," the Inspector said simply and flashed the other man a quick glance before continuing, "Deserved kindness is a thing of greatness; you, however, are too soft and too generous with it. Not everybody deserves to be treated in such a way; it's important to learn and to know that, otherwise we couldn't grow as a society."

"But isn't forgiveness the greatest thing there is?" Madeleine frowned. "Shouldn't we all be striving towards being the better men?"

"We already are the better men," Javert said, finally meeting the other's eyes with exasperated conviction, "by following the law, abiding the rules, and punishing those who do not. If we all were like you, if we all treated wrong-doers with kindness and forgiveness, they would take advantage, and the situation would deteriorate until our race would develop backwards. We function as a society because the majority of us is civilised and willing to follow certain guidelines; those who are not have no place in this world, and they shouldn't be treated as if they had."

Madeleine considered him for a moment with an unreadable expression before he leaned back against the headrest of the sofa, face turned towards the other man.

"What if they change?" he asked at length. "Wouldn't you give them a chance, at least?"

"People don't change," Javert said, and what Madeleine heard was 'bah, humbug!' when the police man mimicked his movement and locked eyes with him. "That's an illusion people like you insist to believe in, but that doesn't make it true."

"So you've never known anyone who did something bad and then realised what they had done was wrong, from then on a changed person?" the other man asked with a scowl.

"Never."

"It's possible, I tell you," Madeleine said with absolute conviction.

"I don't believe it," Javert shrugged and considered the matter closed.

Arguing with the man was pointless; they would never see eye to eye on this, that was the one thing he could say with certainty, and at the moment he didn't have the energy for senseless banter. He turned towards the TV again, catching sight of Madeleine looking as if he meant to say more, but since he remained silent Javert thought the man had come to the same conclusion as he had.

This was how things were between them, but even though they might disagree on most things Javert realised that it was that ridiculous misguided kindness of his that had moved Madeleine to take him in today, and as much as he revolted against it, the Inspector couldn't help but be grateful in this instance, so he let the matter drop for the day.

"I stole your shirt," he said out of nowhere, remembering that there was something else he should be thanking the man for.

"I know."

"I will reimburse you, of course," Javert promised and tried to assess the damage on the material without moving around too much.

"No need," Madeleine said, briefly meeting his eyes before turning towards the screen again. "I stole yours too."


	4. Clues and Confessions

When Cosette returned with the DVDs, Javert and her father had been resolutely ignoring each other for a little eternity already. The girl didn't seem to notice the uneasy vibe coming off both of them and comfortably snuggled her way between them as she sat down on the sofa and started the first episode of the show. Two hours later, they were all filled to the brim with tea, and Javert was sporting a giant headache from general exhaustion and explaining every other minute of screentime to the girl in great detail; he didn't mind — he was actually sort of proud of her interest in police work — but he had had a long day, and the blood loss was beginning to affect him.

After the second episode's credits had started rolling, Madeleine announced it was time for Cosette to retire, and the girl looked like she didn't have the energy to disagree, even if she wanted to, so she sauntered into her room with a "g'night papa. Thanks for staying, Javert."

"Any time, kid," the Inspector yawned tiredly, allowing his head to fall back against the sofa with a pleased sigh.

"She really likes you, you know," Madeleine said quietly after the girl had gone, considering Javert carefully from the other end of the sofa.

"She's a good kid," the Inspector shrugged, meeting the other's gaze with one eye.

"You're not too shabby at this," Cosette's father continued, turning fully towards the other man now. "Have you ever had children?"

"What, me?" Javert laughed, opening his eyes completely to look at him with disbelieving amusement. "Dear god, no!"

"That's a pity," Madeleine said with utmost sincerity. "I think you would be a great father."

"That makes you officially the only person on earth who does," the Inspector said, closing his eyes again. "I'm not exactly daddy-material. It's better this way."

"Cosette would disagree with you, I think," Madeleine said thoughtfully, moving slightly closer on the couch.

"That's because she's easy to handle," Javert explained, observing the other's advancement with a weary half-closed eye. "And because I'm not actually her father. I couldn't raise a child, believe me."

"How would you know?" Madeleine smiled, coming to a halt directly beside the other. "You've never tried being a parent."

"Do you think you would be a good police man?" Javert countered, looking at him fully now.

"Good god, no," the other grimaced. "It seems a rather tedious job to me."

"Exactly," the Inspector grunted with satisfaction. "And yet you've never tried your hand at it— you just know. We are who we are; there is little point in trying to change that which cannot be changed."

"I find it somewhat hard to believe that you haven't met a single person in your whole life who's changed in some way during the time you've known them," Madeleine frowned, starting to open the other's topmost button.

"What are you doing?" Javert asked quietly, observing the movement with detached curiosity. The other man looked up for a moment at the question, meeting his eyes measuredly, and said:

"We both know you're just gonna pretend you're completely fine until you're dead, so someone has to take care of you while there's a good chance you might bleed out."

"You worry too much," Javert sighed, but didn't protest as the dexterous hands continued their work in a swift but careful manner. "The human body was designed to withstand some strain; if it couldn't deal with a bit of rough handling, our race would long be extinct."

"I'm not sure evolution has taken gunshot wounds into the equation," Madeleine said, meeting the other's eyes sternly.

"Give it a couple of years," the Inspector shrugged, looking down at his exposed chest. "See? Nothing to worry about. I'm fine."

"For the moment," Madeleine said, clearly unconvinced. "The hospital said someone should keep an eye on you for a couple of days."

"I shall attempt to stay close to me at all times then, thanks," Javert said, attempting to leave the sofa, but a strong hand on his healthy shoulder stopped him.

"Not so fast," Madeleine said tiredly, awarding the Inspector with an exhausted but stern gaze. "You're not going anywhere. Your wound might open again during the night, and since you live on your own, there will be nobody around to notice; I can't have that."

"Not everything is your responsibility," Javert pointed out quietly, thinking that the hand on his shoulder had suddenly become too heavy to bear.

"Perhaps," Madeleine said, meeting the other's eyes calmly just a few inches apart, "but you are now. I didn't spend the whole day patching you up again and again just so you can kill yourself at night."

Javert considered him for several long moments, weighing his options, until he eventually brought up his hand to remove the other's and said: "What do you propose then?"

"Stay the night," Madeleine shrugged, pointedly not looking at his hand still in Javert's. "I can take the sofa. I'll check up on you every two hours."

"If you think I'll allow you to hand over your bed, you have a terribly inaccurate picture of me," the Inspector frowned, unaware of their intertwined hands in his lap, such was his annoyance at the proposal.

"If you think I'll allow a wounded man to sleep on the sofa, you have an even more inaccurate image of me," Madeleine countered, meeting the other's eyes in a fierce battle of wills.

"I will not move from this sofa other than to return to my own flat," Javert said at length, realising neither of them was going to budge.

"And I will not let you leave mine, so it seems we're in a deadlock," Madeleine voiced what they were both thinking.

"This will be a long night then."

It was a long night.

Javert, despite being almost too exhausted to get off the sofa, refused to fall asleep because he realised that if he did, Madeleine would simply carry him into the bedroom once again; Madeleine, in turn, knew the Inspector would stand up and leave to return to his own flat the second he dozed off.

They found themselves in a deadlock, just as predicted, and eventually decided that if they were going to spend all night awake anyway, they might as well do something other than glare at each other, so Madeleine pulled out Clue and set it up between them on the sofa, hoping to distract the other man from his ill-advised escape plans.

"So… you've never been married?" Madeleine asked distractedly, trying not to lose too badly against the Inspector.

"Mmh?" Javert hummed, writing something down on his notepad. "No. As I said: I'm not the type."

"What makes you think that?" the other prodded further, frowning down at the board.

"It just never happened," Javert shrugged, showing him one of his cards. "I always focused on my career, and by the time I finally made it to Inspector, I was already 40. Besides, I've never really been interested in settling down anyway."

"You could still do it," Madeleine mused absent-mindedly. He should have known better than to challenge the other man in a game like this; the Inspector was barely trying, and still he had the feeling the police man was only withholding his solution to humour him. "It's not too late, you know."

"Hmph," Javert grunted, looking at Madeleine's card. "Perhaps. What about you? Have you ever been married?"

"I should be so lucky," the man laughed, moving his character into the dining room.

"What about Cosette's mother then?" Javert asked, no longer paying any attention to the game. "I was wondering…"

"What?" Madeleine looked up sharply, surprise written all over his face. "No! Ah… Well. I see. You must have thought… I should have realised— I apologise. No, Cosette isn't my biological daughter. I adopted her several years ago when her mother died."

"Ah." Javert looked contemplative for a moment before he hummed in satisfaction. "I thought there was no resemblance."

"Well, now you know why," Madeleine shrugged, scratching his stubble as he considered the board.

"But if you are so keen on getting married, I must admit I don't understand how you're still single," Javert said lightly, skipping through his notes. "You're not so bad-looking for your age, and you're in excellent shape. You're also an accomplished entrepreneur, and women love a family man, so the single-dad thing should work in your favour."

"'Not so bad-looking for your age'?" Madeleine said with a raised eyebrow. "Just how old do you think I am?"

"If I had to guess, I'd say you have ten years on me," Javert replied with an amused twinkle in his eyes. "Are you going to deny it?"

"No… maybe," Madeleine frowned, squinting accusingly at the other man, "shut up."

"I don't know why you're taking this so personally," the Inspector sighed, picking up his notes again. "I just said women should be all over you."

"I could say the same thing about you," Madeleine evaded. "You're a high-ranking police officer, and you're also in pretty good shape. Aren't women supposed to be drawn to the uniform?"

"I wouldn't know," Javert shrugged easily, moving the candlestick into the lounge, "seeing as I have no experience with women myself."

Madeleine started at the confession, looking up sharply to see the Inspector avoiding his gaze. He considered the other man for a moment before he said carefully: "Well. In that case I should probably add that I'm quite convinced the uniform will work on men just as well."

"Mmm," Javert hummed quietly, briefly meeting the other's eyes. "Do you think so? You haven't seen me wearing it yet."

"No matter," Madeleine shrugged off, flashing his card at the other, "you don't need it."

"'That so?" the Inspector asked, voice carefully neutral. "I daresay you would change your mind would you see me in my bullet-proof west."

"One would hope it to be a strong fashion statement," Madeleine conceded, meeting the other's eyes with a small smile, "seeing as it's obviously unfit to fulfil its other purposes."

"Ah," Javert nodded gravely, seemingly preoccupied with his cards, "perhaps if one might have worn it…"

"What?" Madeleine frowned, hitting the other man lightly to get his full attention. "You weren't wearing it?"

"Aren't you glad to know it's no fault of my vest's that I got shot?" Javert said playfully, but he had the decency to look slightly guilty as he avoided the other's gaze.

"I can never decide whether you're just reckless or a complete moron," Madeleine admitted, looking at the Inspector as if it caused him physical pain to sit opposite him.

"A bit of both perhaps?" Javert chuckled, but when he looked up, his eyes were warm. "We didn't expect to run into trouble. The gang we were arresting wasn't known for using weapons— and they weren't. What we hadn't predicted was them hiring some low-life thugs to protect the cargo." He shrugged easily, moving his character again. "It doesn't matter. Everybody else got out fine, and I'll live. It's not a big deal."

He started when he felt a warm hand on his and looked up to find himself confronted by a pair of angry eyes.

"It is a big deal," Madeleine said quietly, and he didn't let go. "You could have died; how can you say that's not a big deal?"

"Because nothing would have changed if I had," Javert murmured back. "I don't have anyone to leave behind; if someone's gonna get shot, it should be me."

"Do you really think no one would care if you were gone?" Madeleine asked, unconscious of how his grip tightened.

"I don't THINK anything," the Inspector said, leaning slightly forward to spare his shoulder as much as possible in this position, "it's the truth."

"No, it's not," the other said vehemently, dragging Javert towards him by his collar. "You would leave me behind."

The Inspector said nothing, but he was calmly looking up at the other for a moment without moving a muscle. Then, after a felt eternity had passed, he leaned over the board and closed the last few inches between them, kicking the game off the sofa completely when Madeleine dragged him backwards.

Their tongues met easily, and Javert smiled slightly to himself as the other's fingers scraped along his neck.

"I knew it," he breathed once they had to part for air and licked a slow trail along the other's throat.

"What gave me away?" Madeleine puffed, allowing his hands to travel beneath the Inspector's shirt to trace the scars he knew were all over his skin.

"Little things," Javert shrugged, humming satisfied into another kiss. "I saw your wardrobe, for one. Also, that is not how a straight man would look at me would he catch me with my shirt off— at least I've never been so lucky."

"I wasn't hitting on you," Madeleine clarified, but his argument lost some of its strength due to the fact that he was currently trapped by the other's body above him.

"All right," Javert said simply, slowly nibbling the other's lip. "I am hitting on you, however."

"Hm…" Madeleine seemed to consider that for a moment before he carefully undid the other's buttons and gently rubbed along his chest before he reached the bandage. Once he had found what he was looking for, he tilted his head slightly to get a better view of his work and said with some concern: "I'm not sure you should be doing that, to be honest. I don't think your shoulder could take it."

"Forget my shoulder for one moment, okay?" Javert groaned, resting his forehead against the armrest the other's head was lying on. "I told you: it's fine."

"You're also incredibly high," Madeleine reminded him, carefully pushing the other off him. "I knew this was a bad idea. You should get some sleep."

Javert sighed with some annoyance, but he couldn't deny he was dead on his feet. "I suppose you're still insisting I sleep in your bed?"

"What gave me away?"


	5. An Unexpected Visit

The night went by without any noteworthy incidents. Once tucked in, Javert succumbed to the sleep of the just, and even Madeleine — although checking on the other man regularly because his brain refused to let him sleep through the night as unconcernedly as the Inspector — managed to get a couple of hours of well-deserved rest.

Morning came all too soon in the form of insistent hammering against a door. Whoever was abusing the wood didn't seem inclined to stop anytime soon, and it took Javert a moment to realise that it was HIS door being pounded at.

It took him another second to remember that he wasn't actually in his apartment.

Groaning, he rolled out of bed, thinking of his injury only when a sharp pain shot through his shoulder, and let out a muffled curse, trying his utmost not to wake the man still sleeping peacefully on the other side. Once he had extracted himself from the tangled blankets, Javert carefully tiptoed out of the bedroom and from the living room straight into the hallway, where he stared at the person attempting to knock his door down at the other end with disdain.

"What do you think you're doing?" he frowned, not particularly angry, but his head was pounding enough from the blood-loss and the drugs as it was, and the hammering didn't make it better. Javert was exhausted beyond belief, and he had little inclination to deal with anything, let alone a visitor, right now.

The figure in front of him turned around with a start, door suddenly forgotten, and Javert mimicked the surprised expression upon realising who it was he was facing.

"I got a call from the hospital," the visitor explained coolly, instantly composed again, "thought I might drop by to check if you were still alive, old man."

"No need to knock the door down, punk," Javert said equally aloof, but a small smile was playing around his lips.

"Did I remember the number wrong?" the intruder asked and turned towards the Inspector's apartment with affront. "I know it's been a while, but I could have sworn it was this one."

"No, you got it right," Javert said vaguely and threw an uncertain look behind him just in time to catch Madeleine watching him from the hallway with obvious interest before he approached them and came to a halt behind the Inspector.

"Don't you want to invite your friend inside?" he said and gestured for the visitor to enter. "It's rude to let him stand in the hallway like that."

"As if the old geezer cared," he chuckled but stepped past Javert into the apartment and looked around with interest.

"Watch your tongue, boy," the Inspector squinted at him and closed the door with a sense of dread. This was not a conversation he wanted to have with either of them, and yet he could feel the tension building.

"He might not care, but I do," Madeleine smiled simply and extended his hand for the young man to take, "I'm Jean Madeleine."

"Nice to meet you, magical creature that got the old man to leave his flat," the boy said in awe, "I'm Enjolras."

"It was nothing; I forced him inside, so to speak," he waved off, "but this is the first time I've ever seen him have a visitor."

"He doesn't exactly inspire the desire to spend more time with him," Enjolras explained, meeting Javert's disapproving look with a defying one of his own. "And I'm not a visitor."

"Oh?"

"I'm his son."

Madeleine started, looking between Javert and the fair-haired boy with equal amounts of surprise and amusement. Surprise because the two could not look less alike, and the Inspector had confessed only hours ago that he both lacked experience with women and wasn't a father himself; amusement because whoever the boy was, he knew exactly how to play the police man to exasperate him to the core as only ones child could.

"I thought you didn't have children," Madeleine pointed out with a raised eyebrow at Javert, who looked less than happy at the revelation.

"I don't," he shrugged and fixed Enjolras with a hard stare that was soft at the edges. "I'm his guardian. I adopted him about three years ago."

"And immediately shipped me off to boarding school," the boy said with a dramatic sigh. "You're not getting a gold star in parenting, oldtimer."

"I don't recall asking for one."

"You don't deserve me," Enjolras said with a shake of his head and dropped down on the sofa with graceful ease. "I should have let you die alone."

"Nobody asked you to come," Javert pointed out and went into the kitchen to make coffee.

"The hospital called and told me you'd need supervision," the boy reminded him and inspected Madeleine with intent curiosity, "I had no way of knowing you were in good hands already."

"I'm touched by your sudden interest in my well-being," Javert said dryly and put a steaming cup of coffee into the kid's hands before dropping down next to him on the sofa, "but I already told you you're the sole inheritor of my fortune, no matter what you do."

"So there's no need for me to pretend like I care?" Enjolras asked with excessive glee before he playfully shoved the Inspector and continued soberly, "Seriously though: How are you? The hospital wouldn't tell me much beyond 'he'll live', but knowing you that could mean absolutely anything."

"Ask him," Javert nodded towards Madeleine who had sat down in an opposite chair and followed their banter with interest. "Actually, why don't you two talk alone for a bit? I need a shower."

With that the Inspector stood and walked towards the door, only stopping when Enjolras addressed him with a frown.

"Where are you going?"

"Home. I've borrowed enough clothes for someone who lives five meters across the hall, and I really do need a shower." He turned again, opening the door, and said over his shoulder: "I also don't want to be around when Jean here gets started. I've had enough mothering in the last hours to last me a lifetime. I will not have both of you fussing over me like I'm standing with one foot inside the grave already."

He vanished, closing the door behind him with exasperated finality. Madeleine frowned after him, clearly concerned, but Enjolras merely shrugged, turning towards the man in the chair with barely concealed curiosity and leaned forward with his coffee in hand.

"How long have you known that guy, and why are you still living in the same building as him?" he asked, marvelling at the man in front of him.

"It's been a couple of months now," Madeleine said slowly, observing the boy with as much wonder as was bestowed upon himself, "but I don't think you give your father enough credit. His presence is very enjoyable."

"Oh, I know," Enjolras smiled mysteriously, taking a sip of his coffee. "It's just MORE enjoyable to rile him up a bit. Don't worry, he likes it. Big softie…" He trailed off, suddenly contemplative, and looked up with seriousness plastered on his face for the first time since he walked in. "Tell me how bad it really is. He'll never say anything, but he looked extremely pale, and the nurse I talked to on the phone was very adamant about him not being left unsupervised."

Madeleine leaned back with a solemn expression, considering the boy quietly for a moment before he said slowly: "He'll live. It looks gruesome, and the wound opens up more frequently than I would like, but he's holding up fine, and I think it takes more than a bullet wound to stop Javert."

"Hear hear," Enjolras grimaced, taking another sip of his coffee. "But you're making sure he doesn't do anything completely idiotic, right? I know my father; that guy's a brilliant police officer, sure, but a complete moron when it comes to personal safety."

"I had noticed," Madeleine admitted, sharing a conspiratorial look with the other. "Don't worry, I won't let him out of my sight. It's driving him crazy, I know."

"Serves the idiot right," Enjolras grunted and set down his cup. "So you and he are…"

"Friends," Madeleine said quickly, feeling the heat rise in his cheeks with embarrassment, but he had spoken too quickly, and the boy considered him with an amused expression, telling him he had been found out.

"Relax, man," Enjolras said with a small smile. "It's all cool. This isn't my first rodeo; that is to say, there's nothing I don't know about Javert. Just…" He trailed off, uncertainly looking through the living room before allowing his eyes to meet Madeleine's again. "Don't hurt him, okay? He's really… something. But he's also a big softie, I wasn't kidding. You seem like a pretty swell guy, so I'll give you the benefit of the doubt and won't assume the worst of you, but don't hurt him or so help me."

"You're very protective considering you've only known him for three years," Madeleine noticed, not bothering to point out that it was far from his intention to do anything of the kind.

"You have no idea," Enjolras snorted, crossing his arms in front of his chest, squinting at the man opposite him. "When I was thirteen, there was a fire in the building my family was living in. It was the middle of the night, so we didn't… when we noticed, everything was burning already. I don't remember much. My psychiatrist said it was a self-defence mechanism or something…" He briefly looked up to meet the other's eyes before he fixed the floor again and continued:

"Anyway, I remember being terrified. There was nowhere I could go. We were on the third floor, and everything around me was in flames. I just… sat in the corner, waiting for it to end, I guess." He smiled for a second, eyes flickering towards Madeleine's. "Suddenly a monster of a guy storms in, knocks the door down, just like that," he snapped with his fingers, "he looks around with a scowl as if someone had just eaten the last doughnut, as if the flames didn't even bother him. Like they couldn't touch him."

Enjolras sighed and said to the floor: "He turned towards me, saw me cowering in the corner, and just… strolled over, didn't say anything, just… picked me up and threw me over his shoulder as if I weighed nothing."

After a moment of tense silence he finally looked up again and said quietly: "He carried me out. All around us everything was falling apart, and he just… he didn't care. He wouldn't let go, even though I was seriously slowing him down. He told me I was fighting him all the way, yelling at him to let me down, but he wouldn't let go."

He chuckled humorlessly, scratching his head.

"Only once we were outside did I realise the guy wasn't actually a fireman. As it turned out, he was just a police officer who happened to be in the neighbourhood when the call came through, and he rushed there as fast as he could. When they patched me up outside, one of the firemen told me the guy was completely nuts, and that they'd told him to stay outside and let them handle it, but he wouldn't listen."

He swallowed heavily, gaze flickering between Madeleine and the wall.

"Do you know why he went in?" he asked hoarsely, and the other man shook his head slowly, afraid to interrupt the story. "Because apparently there was a kid screaming his lungs out on the third floor, directly beneath an open window, and he couldn't wait around outside for someone to get up there."

"Damn it," Enjolras cursed, quickly wiping away a stray tear and cleared his throat. "Long story short: my parents died in the fire, and when Javert heard, he visited me in the hospital every day. I had a couple of burns and smoke poisoning, so they kept me there for a week, and he came every single day, even though the nurses tried to kick him out the first couple of times."

"And he adopted you," Madeleine concluded quietly, uncertain of what to say to this new bit of information about the enigma that was his neighbour.

"They wanted to put me in a home," Enjolras said shakily. "I didn't want to go. I guess I didn't want to be an orphan, and where would I feel it more keenly than there? So I made quite the fuss, but Javert was there, and when they tried to force me to go with them, he just said 'I'll take him then' and that was that. I think they were all too afraid to argue." He chuckled and met Madeleine's eyes with tired ones of his own. "He asked them for the paperwork and everything went pretty quickly from there."

"And he sent you to a boarding school straight away?" Madeleine enquired curiously, thoroughly engrossed in the tale.

"Not immediately, no," Enjolras shook his head, "he gave me a couple of months to adjust, but eventually it dawned on him that he had no idea how to be a father anymore than I knew how to be his son, so he proposed this arrangement and I said yes." He met the other's eyes intently, saying with some strength: "It's about the best school there is, I can't say he didn't do all he could. And I like it there. Besides, I still see him during breaks, and he calls regularly to see if I've dropped out yet."

"But you'd prefer to be around more," Madeleine said knowingly, a gentle smile playing around his lips.

"It was the best solution at the time," Enjolras said slowly, "because it was all still very fresh, and I would have hated him had he tried to replace my parents so shortly after their death, like they meant nothing. But now… I don't know. When he pulls stunts like that, I'd rather be close so I can take care of him in case he needs me, y'know?"

"If you talked to him, I'm sure you could work something out," Madeleine said carefully, watching as the boy grimaced and shook his head.

"No. It is how it should be. Besides, in two years I will be going to university anyway. Might as well be used to not being around."

Javert returned half an hour later, having exceeded the acceptable amount of stalling, and faced his nightmare in his neighbour's flat with dignity.

"So I take it you two have exchanged all stories concerning me by now, and we can all start pretending we don't know anything about each other," he said as he dropped down on the sofa, steaming cup of coffee he had taken from his flat in hand.

"You know, this kind of thing wouldn't happen if you'd simply take a bit more care of yourself," Enjolras pointed out with righteous exasperation and exchanged a weary glance with Madeleine. "How come you didn't call me, anyway? I had to hear from a random nurse that my father was shot. When were you planning on telling me?"

"About… never?" Javert said with a tone that screamed 'duh' and took a sip of his coffee. "What took you so long, by the way? You must have been informed as soon as I got in."

"I was giving you a chance to call yourself, oldtimer!" Enjolras scowled and shoved the Inspector just short of hard enough to make him spill his coffee. "Besides, I had to arrange everything with my school. It's not that easy to get a couple of days off if your father doesn't call to tell them he's dying."

"I'm not dying, stop saying that," Javert frowned and shoved right back.

"Well, maybe not right now, but one day you will be, and you still won't acknowledge it," the boy said with conviction and turned towards Madeleine, "you'll call me if something like that happens again, right? He'll have to tell you if you're living together."

"We're not living together," both men said simultaneously, Madeleine feeling a faint blush tainting his face at the notion.

"Yet," Enjolras shrugged, unconcerned.

"Stop meddling, punk," Javert said warningly, but a warm smile reached his eyes when he took another sip of his coffee.

"I'll stop meddling when you settle down and make an honest man of someone, geezer," the boy replied with another good-natured shove.

"And you think you know everything, don't you?" Javert sighed, but knew a lost fight when he saw one, and besides, he had heard careful steps approaching them from behind. The Inspector turned around, acutely aware of his aching shoulder, and caught sight of Cosette, who was eyeing them from the hallway.

"Who are you?" she asked bluntly, coming up towards them, observing Enjolras with curiosity.

"I may or may not be your step-brother," the boy said easily, meeting her gleaming eyes with amused ones of his own. "We are still negotiating the terms of engagement."

"Please don't taint the youth," Javert sighed tiredly, taking a small slightly rattling bottle out of his pocket and swallowed a painkiller. "I think you have done enough damage for one day."

"You always assume the worst," Enjolras said but didn't argue. "And anyway, the girl should know that even though she would have to put up with you, it might just be worth it because I am also part of the package. I'm just trying to help you out here, oldtimer."

"And what makes you think I would need your help in such matters?" Javert frowned, but he too didn't argue. "You'll scare her off more than anything."

"I am delightful," Enjolras insisted, turning towards the girl with his most radiant smile. "But I'm being rude. Care to tell me what your name is, princess?"

"Cosette," she said shyly, looking between her father and the two guests in their living room. "Are you Javert's son?"

"At your service!" Enjolras jumped up and saluted. "I heard the geezer was being a ninny and came to check on him, but it looks like your father has everything under control; which is fortunate since my old man frequently hasn't."

"Can you see now why I don't go around advertising his existence?" Javert asked in a conspiratorially low voice gazing at Madeleine, who observed the scene with obvious amusement.

"I will say that I understand why you thought yourself unfit for fatherhood," he replied vaguely, but his eyes were warm as he observed Enjolras playing with Cosette, who delighted in having a come-to-life Disney prince standing in her living room who was willing to entertain her. "Although I still insist that you are wrong in your assessment."

"Indeed?" Javert asked, clearly unconvinced, as he too watched the boy chase Cosette through the flat.

"I always thought you were an excellent father, Javert," Madeleine said honestly, eyes coming to rest on the Inspector's. "Now I just have proof."


End file.
